Some other place, some other time
by WolfsCub
Summary: TimeTravel fic. Hermione goes back in time to the early 1900s and meets an US Army officer, Lieutenant Michael Schofield. Crossover with the book "Love Forevermore" by Madeline Baker. HGOC pairing. HPHG friendship.
1. Chapter 1

So I've been reading some Madeline Baker western romances. I am huge fan of all time travel romances that involve Hermione Granger, kilts, Indians, etc. Madeline Baker's Love Forevermore is my most recent read, and I have to say I felt sorry for Lieutenant Michael Schofield. Mike Schofield married Loralee, a school mistress who was in love with and had gotten pregnant by Shad, an Apache warrior. However, in the end, he never consumated the marriage and let her go. Even though I liked Shad, I think Michael also deserves a happy ending. And so does broken Hermione. Not sure what I'll do about Harry, though.

Characters and storyline from Love Forevermore belong to Madeline Baker, along with the white spirit horse Rélampago. And Harry Potter to JK Rowling. I owe nothing.

**Chapter 1**

**_Daily Prophet Special - Boy-who-lived and Hermione Granger disappear_**

_The last week, as all of our dear readers already know, was marked with the victory of the Light. Lord Voldemort was defeated by Harry Potter who misteriously disappeared shortly after said duel. He was sighted afterwards, alive, supposedly following Hermione Granger, who has also disappeared, in the Forbidden Forest. The bodies of Bellatrix Lestrange and Ronald Weasley were found, the latter severely mutilated, there, in an area where the last living members of the Golden Trio were last sighted._

Filius Flitwick sighed and put the newspaper away. He was proud of how all of his students had stood up against _him_ and his Death Eaters, how they fought bravely and against all odds. Proud of Mr. Potter and Miss Granger. Tears swam in his eyes, and he blinked repeatedly.

He knew now that Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Ronald Weasley, after torturing him. Her corpse showed signs of a duel, of course, and with her head separated of her body, apparently from some cutting object. Madam Lestrange's wand revealed the last spell she cast was an Expelliarmus. Perhaps she had disarmed her opponent, who in return, used a weapon - most likely a sword - to cut her head off.

It must have been quite a sword. It could not have been the sword of Gryffindor, since the last person holding it had been - of all people - Neville Longbottom.

The question was... who attacked her? Miss Granger? Mr. Potter? Of what he knew of his former pupils, it was not feasible, but war does strange things to a person, and Mr. Weasley was very dear to both of them.

It had been raining all week.

* * *

His head hurt. What in the blazes just happened?! He found himself alone, hidden by a few trees. Very unlike the woods he had left. He cast a few spells around him. He frowned, where was Hermione? And the bodies? Ron was dead, dead!

Maybe he imagined the whole thing.

He felt different now, not as heavy as before, better, lighter than in all these months. Hungry, he cast several charms and wards, only then he took his charmed bottomless pouch and accio'ed a sandwich and a water canteen. Hermione's creation, of course, he smiled. He doubted he would ever have survived first year, much less the war, if it had not been for the bossy little witch, the sister he never had.

Just as he finished his sandwich and put his canteen and pouch away, something pulled at his wards. Hermione, perhaps? Casting detection and tracking spells, he found the witch was not near him. Harry became more and more concerned. He cast a disillusionment charm, this concealing himself. He approached the disturbance point and gasped. Just ahead of the wards, he saw several shocking things that immediately made him drop all the wards.

The first of them was a prairie. All around Harry there was a flat area covered with grass, very few trees, and no Hogwarts... no signs of the battle, nothing. He found himself exploring the area, as if hypnotised, approaching a nearby lake and a man strangely dressed as a cavalry officer of old, with a horse for company.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

What also shocked Harry was the fact that the lake was frozen and there was snow. It was very cold, and he treaded carefully between the snow and some grass. Harry concealed his wand and the Elder wand in two wandholsters, invisible and untouchable to all but him. The original spare one, taken from the Snatchers, he had lost.

The man was tall and blond and had a pistol in his hand. If he found Harry's sudden appearance odd he did not comment on it. With an American accent, he asked Harry if he needed assistance, if he was hurt, what had happened. He seemed wary and somewhat disturbed, though he appeared to be controling himself.

What to say?, he thought. A little test, perhaps...

"I'm sorry, I think I'm lost. Can you... direct me towards the nearest town?" Of course, the man answered. Didn't he have a horse, he could simply follow him to the Fort. "Fort-what?" Fort Apache.

"Listen, son, did you hit your head?" Harry's heart beat like a drum, loud in his ears.

"Did you see a young woman, around my age?" He hadn't. "Yes, I... I think I might have... I'm not feeling very well."

"You look it.", the man paused. "Don't you have a cloak or anything? It's damned cold."

"I'm fine." Thank Merlin for warming charms.

"I am Lieutenant Michael Schofield."

"How do you do? I'm Harry."

"Just Harry?", he laughed. Harry smiled and, giving in to his inner Slytherin, made a confused face, scratched his head. Curious, the man was obviously a Muggle. Was he involved in some sort of reenactment? Where were they? This wasn't Hogwarts, and none of his spells had managed to track Hermione. Either she was too far away... or dead. "Don't you remember?" Harry didn't answer a lot of questions and, since he looked a fright, scrawny, half-starved and obviously didn't carry any weapons, the cavalry officer took him to the Fort.

Harry lost sense of time, if felt as if they had been walking/riding for ever, until he noticed the presence of several buildings surrounded by wood walls - if they deserved such a name - rose among the snow. Harry stopped abruptly, shock showing on his face, and the officer, looking at his face, asked him what was wrong. Harry bended over a half frozen shrub and heaved. Stopping at last, he said, "Sorry, sir".

"Not a problem, but as soon as we arrive, I'm taking you into the infirmary."

Of course, nothing could be done, Harry didn't have any bumps in his head, but he was to remain in the infirmary for observation.

Would he never rid himself of hospitals or the like?

Lieutenant Schofield visited him the next day. It was obvious Harry didn't have a home, nor a place to stay, nor an occupation so, if he'd like, perhaps he could work in the Fort.

"Yes, please, though..." what could he do in the Muggle world? He wasn't very strong, and he'd have to go Muggle. "I'm not sure I'll be fit to do much, sir. I believe I can clean a house, from top to bottom, and cook."

And so, Harry started to work in the Fort's kitchen. It was true the saying, "Army cooks have killed more soldiers than Indians". Harry was appaled at the lack of hygiene. He worked there for a couple of weeks and, for Thanksgiving day, he made, by himself, an apple pie and a treacle tart. His heart constricted, the latter reminded him of Hogwarts and its feasts. That was long gone, though; he had already concluded he would never return to his time. He was stuck in the early 1900s, and there to stay.

"Is it true you made the apple pie and the treacle tart by yourself, Harry?", Harry looked beside him, and rose, bowing slightly.

"Yes, Lieutenant Schofield.", he grimaced.

"Now Harry, it's alright, you should be proud of yourself. It was the best I've ever eaten. Apple pie is my favorite.", the blond man said. At Harry's sad countenance, he asked, "What's the matter?".

"It was her favorite too." he whispered.

"Her?"

"Oh, sorry sir, nothing."

"It was something, out with it."

"Hermione's.", the officer smiled, sadly.

"Sweet heart of yours?"

"Best friend, and a sister in every aspect but blood, Lieutenant."

"Really?", he mused. "She must have been special, that's quite a compliment."

"She was brilliant, brave, kind, bossy and a bookworm."

"Probably homely, then.", he laughed.

"Homely?"

"You know, not exactly beautiful?"

"Oh, no, you're wrong, sir. Hermione was not homely at all."

"Hmm. Listen, Harry, you seem to be a hardworking young man. And you do quite alright in the household department. Me and another single officer need someone like you to take care of their homes, clothes, and such. You'd be paid, and..."

"Single, sir?"

"Is there a problem, Harry?", he asked sharply. Harry looked around them; they were alone on the porch, the other officers were still inside, finishing their meal and smoking.

"Sir, if I may?", he nodded, "Please don't be offended, but I've heard things, and... I never liked to just hear one side of the story. What I mean is, when I was in school, people judged me a lot by things I had not exactly done, and blew things out of proportion, and I wouldn't like to do the same to you." Schofield nodded, looking withdrawn. After staring at him for a full minute, as if measuring Harry's worth, he spoke.

"I already know what it's about. My wife." Harry nodded. "Loralee. She was the school mistress, in the Indian Reservation nearby. She came here to teach Indian children. Since they didn't come, she started to give lessons to an Apache warrior, Shad Zuniga. After him, the children followed. She... fell in love with him, and he got her in the family way. I married her, but she ended up staying with him."

Well... that, he thought, was the short version. It vaguely reminded him of some trashy soap opera Aunt Petunia enjoyed watching, or was it a bodice ripper romance? He wasn't sure, he only knew there was bound to be more drama than that. Never fear, though, he would find out more, eventually, so he simply did not ask questions about the matter.

"Thank you, sir. When do I start?" Schofield stared at him and, suddenly, he smiled.

"Call me Mike."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

And so, Harry settled into a somewhat comfortable routine. He found there weren't very many ladies in the camp, only three. According to Commander Bradley Freeman's wife, life in the West was not easy nor for everyone. Nobody talked much about Loralee Schofield, and when they did, it was nearly always in a derogatory fashion. Harry didn't like hearing the men saying, sometimes, that Lieutenant Schofield had been a fool, first, for marrying a woman pregnant with "a filthy Injun's half-breed", second, for not killing the man when he could and thirdly, for letting her go to _him. _Well, he really must have loved her, Harry thought, and she must have loved Zuniga very much, as well. Fourthly, the rumour that Schofield had taken some time off to settle his divorce, some spoke maliciously of an annulment - since the marriage wouldn't have been consummated -, spread like wild fire in the Fort.

Harry sighed. He had been using magic very carefully, this time, for most of the work, and now he was finishing cleaning the kitchen floor manually; he knew Schofield, Mike, would be arriving soon enough and it was important to keep up the appearances. He had asked Harry to clean his house properly - the more lived in areas were okay, but there were parts of the house that stayed completely unused and unclean. _Probably since Mrs. Schofield__ left him_. There was a room that was probably meant to be a nursery or something, that remained unused, since the cradle had spider webs around it. The storage room had quite some space left, so Harry put the cradle there and sorted out the rest of the room. Both bedrooms were now clean; he hoped Mike would like it.

Since he had cleaned things more quickly thanks to magic, Harry had been studying some books from his special pouch. It was amazing what Hermione had put there, sometimes he wondered if he wasn't carrying a good part of Hogwarts library, and perhaps a Muggle one too. _Maybe Hermione duplicated it_, he chuckled. He had upped on his knowledge in wards and wand magic, as well as Portkeys and wizarding communities. Where would Hermione go? Was she even here? He sighed. Perhaps he should try to look up other ways of long distance communication. Harry was not so good keen on apparating, hence why he was reading on Portkeys. He'd have to make one to reach a wizarding village and try to buy himself an owl, or some other native bird, and try to write to Hermione. He cursed; what if she was no longer in America? What if she didn't even travel in time?

He listened to the silence, now disrupted by someone crossing the wards he set, the sound of hoof steps, then by someone dismounting; Harry quickly shove his books in his pouch, flicked his wand at the stove, hid his wand and set to finish cleaning the kitchen. The door opened, and Mike Schofield arrived, dressed in civilian clothing, a bag in his shoulder.

"Hello, Harry."

"Mike, how was your journey?"

"Fine, a little long."

"Would you like me to cook something for you, or would you rather dine in the mess hall? The stove's ready, I think." Mike frowned, and stared at Harry, who tried not to squirm at the intense look on Schofield's dark blue eyes.

"Yes, please. Anything will do. Maybe some eggs, and a bath afterwards." He dropped the bag, and left, probably towards the outhouse. Harry had made some bread and apple pie in the morning and put it aside; starting on the eggs after slicing some bacon.

Mike Schofield set out towards the outhouse and frowned again. He had thought the house was empty, but he had a curious feeling as he arrived, as if he had just transposed a veil and someone gently and sensuously caressed his back from top to bottom. Of course, that was ridiculous; there was nothing, and it wasn't as if he knew what that sort of touch felt like. He fumed, Loralee hardly ever touched him in any matter, since he never consummated the marriage - he often wondered if she would have learned to love him if he had - , and the soiled doves he once sampled didn't bother doing anything like that. Then, what also alerted him, was the fact that he was almost completely certain there was no smoke coming from the chimney.

And yet, when he came in, the stove was on. Also, the kitchen was cold, as if the stove were not being used. There was something fishy going on, and he had the feeling Harry had something to do with it, but apart from a very slight discomfort, the young man didn't show signs of having done anything untoward. He'd invite Harry to eat with him and have a bath, if he could.

Entering the kitchen, he sit down and smiled, noticing Harry was already making preparations for a bath. That would be nice indeed, after his long travel. The kitchen was hotter, now, the bread on the table and, at his request, Harry sat to eat with him, in companionable silence. Harry, he mused, seemed to read him like a book, anticipating his needs. He wondered at the young man's past.

Dinner was a quiet affair, and Harry was a little tense. Mike had noticed something was off, he was sure of it, though he didn't mention it. When they finished, Mike left to his room and undressed behind a screen, while Harry quickly prepared his bath, then left to cart the two last buckets to the kitchen, and do the dishes. Making sure Lieutenant Schofield was already in the tub, he set out to wash the dishes the magical way and waited and waited. He wondered if the lieutenant hadn't fallen asleep which, as Harry latter noticed, he had. He must have been quite tired; Harry fortunately hadn't had, so far, the need to ride a horse for an entire day, as was customary in this time.

Facing the older man, now looking cleaner, he gently shook his shoulder, waking him up, startled and slightly disoriented.

"It's me, sir. Humm... you fell asleep.", the teen rose to leave.

"Thank you.", he stretched, pressing his back.

"Sore back?"

"Yes, I rode all day, and sleeping on the ground doesn't help either."

"Sir, don't take this the wrong way but... I could give you a back rub if you'd like. It might be uncomfortable now, since it'd be purely therapeutical, nothing like what's done in certain... places, but I think you wouldn't be so sore in the morning."

Mike's eyebrows rose and he nodded after a few seconds.

"Well, alright Harry. Let's try it, then." Harry said he'd be right back, and for him to lay on the left of his bed, which he did, after drying himself. Minutes later, Harry spread some olive oil on his back and set to work, first on top, then on his shoulders, between his shoulder plates, and though initially uncomfortable, he began to relax. Halfway through, he fell asleep.

Harry chuckled, that was a common reaction, even Hermione did the same. When he finished, he covered the man with the covers and blanket.

He wandered into the spare bedroom and undressed, falling asleep minutes later.

* * *

Harry woke up before 5 AM. Reveille was at five thirty, so he still had time. He tidied up the room and, going to the other bedroom, found the Lieutenant was still asleep; he didn't snore. Harry started on breakfast and, with the reveille, the smell of coffee, bacon and eggs invading the house, brought a disheveled Schofield to silently break his fast before tidying up for the day.

"Morning, Harry. Have breakfast with me."

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later, the officer left the kitchen to shave and dress, and soon he was ready to start his day, just like Harry.

"Well, Harry, before we go, thank you for taking care of my cabin."

"Not a problem, Mike. You pay me for that, after all." They chuckled at each other.

"Still, you do a very good job, Harry. And a great apple pie. And that back rub was very good, I don't feel as sore as usual."

"Thank you, I had a good teacher."

"Really? Who was it?"

"Well, Hermione did. She would practice on her mother, who taught her the basics, and, one Summer I spent some days at her house, her father volunteered as a guinea pig for me.", he smirked. "He didn't mind much."

"I reckon he didn't." he paused, "well, see you later, Harry."


	4. Chapter 4

I had a review! So happy :-) My muse demanded Hermione! This is a big chapter...

**Chapter 4**

Michael Schofield undressed, climbed into his empty bed, and sighed in the dark. Once, he believed married life became him, and he had missed Loralee, despite it all. Seeing her again to settle their divorce, her son in her arms, Zuniga beside her, felt like a knife driven into his heart. He had also went to California to visit her because he wanted to see, for himself, if the Indian was making her happy.

Before they parted, he gave Loralee the silver pocketwatch that had belonged to her father, gifted to him on their first and last Christmas together, wished her well and left to Arizona.

Those days on the road, he thought of little else, and when he came home, he had come to terms with his divorce; Loralee only ever loved that damned Indian. It didn't matter if he hadn't consummated the marriage, she had agreed with the divorce, instead of the annulment, for Mike's sake. _It's the least I can do for you Mike, for all the pain I caused you, _she said. It wouldn't be nice to be a divorced man, but it was preferable to an annulment, they had married so hastily, and the child was obviously not his... at least, in time, he might come to know a gentle lady who wouldn't mind that mistake of his, who wouldn't think him less of a man for not demanding his rights as a husband of his previous wife. Hell, he would most likely never tell her such a thing. He had done it out of love, he only ever wanted Loralee's love.

Look what he got. Nothing.

He sighed, again, turning. He was being stupid. He knew it would be difficult, almost impossible, to find a wife, and one willing to take him, a divorced man with his reputation, despite his good income, in the middle of no-where. The new school mistress was nothing like Loralee; she was much older. He had no interest in a mail order bride, either. It was hard to be alone again. At times, it was also a relief, since things had become, at one point, more and more awkward, with Zuniga's return to their life, and with how despised Loralee (and himself) felt with everyone's knowledge of the fact that her son was Zuniga's.

Fortunately, having Harry permanently living on the house ever since he returned from California – he had asked the young man to take the spare room – made things more bearable. He had devoured a good part of his meager library and quickly learned to ride. He was quiet, efficient, didn't speak too much of himself, except for that friend of his, if she was real at all. Harry didn't seem to have a picture of hers, or so he thought, because sometime later he found him drawing a human figure in a piece of paper, which he'd zealously hide as soon as he entered the room. He also seemed particularly attached to a little ball, but Mike never fully saw what it was. He tried to creep up on him a couple of times but he failed, the youth was as knowing of his surroundings as an Apache warrior, perhaps even more, he laughed. Sometimes they'd play cards - Harry had a way with poker (he played cards with that friend of his in school) and had been playing often in the saloon nearby the Fort, with good results - and he taught Mike how to play chess. Harry told him he was thinking of buying himself a horse and leave the Fort for a few weeks. He wanted to see other places, he said.

"California, maybe? You'd like to see the ocean?" Harry snorted.

"No... I'd like to see the Grand Canyon, though."

He pointed out it was a somewhat long travel, and Harry would need a horse fit for it, or take his time to get there. It wasn't like Harry couldn't come and go as he pleased, he never enlisted in the weeks he had been there. Harry chortled and pointed out Mike was acting like a mother hen and that he had been gone for weeks, all alone on the road.

"Yes, Harry, but I know my way around. You can't even shoot a gun properly."

"Guess I'll learn."

He liked Harry, for some reason he couldn't pinpoint. He had only known the teenager for a few weeks but it felt longer, he trusted him. Harry was more responsible than many other recruits his age and could keep secrets. Hell, he was a riddle himself.

Christmas was coming soon, he thought. He turned on his side and slept.

He dreamt of the forest, near the Apache reservation, of a rebuilt wickiup in the woods, and a bird of fire.

* * *

It was a good day for Rita Skeeter. Smugly, she took her copy of the Daily Prophet and lovingly traced the headline **Hermione Granger sentenced to the Dementors Kiss! **Rita had, of course, embellished the text, as always. She knew, of course, that Granger hadn't really killed the Potter boy – wouldn't be possible since they were such good friends, really – but wizarding Britain was mostly composed of gullible idiots, so there. Besides, she didn't want to be petty, remembering how the little Mudblood had kept her in a jar for so long... but she had no choice but to seize the opportunity and frame that ridiculous little girl. She knew, she saw Rita in the woods, and so did Potter, dressed like the Death Eather she is, or was.

Rita didn't know where the girl was now, but no matter, nobody would believe her now; she had missed her trial, Rita made sure of that, and kept her drugged with potions. How she disappeared, Rita didn't know, but she'd find the Mudblood. She planned to stage her capture, take her to Azkaban for her Kiss, and reap the reward on her head! It was all about the timing. Maybe she'd get a Merlin Order, she cackled.

And it wasn't like she had many people looking for her: Arthur and Molly Weasley, along with Fred, Ron and Ginny Weasley, were dead. George Weasley was never the same again, and his other brothers were missing. Remus Lupin and his wife Tonks were gone, as well as most of the Mudblood's most powerful acquaintances. Nobody would care if she lived or died. And so, no one would get in the way.

* * *

Little did Rita Skeeter know that Hermione's escape was Fawkes' fault. The phoenix spied on the reporter and, as soon as she left the cave Hermione was hidden in, Fawkes flashed and, once in, landed on the muggleborn witch's chest. Gently nudging her lips, parting them with its beak, he cried for the little witch who, gradually, awoke.

"Fawkes!", she croaked, her throat parched.

She was in a cave, that much was obvious. There was a table nearby, potions ingredients and vials, some empty, some not. She found her beloved wand, her beaded bag and her sword, and froze when she saw the last Daily Prophet. Azkaban? The Kiss?

Fawkes trilled.

"You're right, Fawkes, we should go. Anywhere, really." She took all the newspapers she could find and, looking at Fawkes, asked, "Is Harry alive? Can you take me to him?" With two nods, the phoenix gripped her shoulder and all Hermione could remember from that point on was darkness.

* * *

When she awoke, Hermione noticed Fawkes had taken her to a vastly different place.

There were trees all around her, but it was nothing like the forests she'd seen on England. This was clearly some other place. Forests in England, as far as she knew, didn't have cougars.

Like the one currently growling at her, and bleeding to its death.

She drew her wand and circled the mountain lion. She listened to the silence and flicked her wand. There were two men coming in this direction; she frowned, petrified the big cat and cast some wards.

She could see, and supposed the cougar could see them too, the two men passing a few feet beside them, never to bother them again. Not men, young men, on dressed as a Native American and the other in an old Cavalry or Army uniform, like in some movies Hermione had seen. She gulped and tried not to think of it too much of it meant and, sighing, cast some spells on the cougar, healing her belly.

Knowing she'd never get another chance, she giggled and petted the animal, gently on the top of her head and then scratching behind her ears and under its muzzle.

"I wish Harry could see this..."

She lifted the wards and hid the petrified cougar behind some bushes. She recast her spell; it would give her time to find some other safe place.

She walked quickly through the green forest, wand in her hand, as always and came to what must have been a little house. One could tell it had been burnt some time ago, blackened sticks were all that remained. She rummaged her beaded bag and took a Pepper Up Potion, she felt tired, rather weak. How long had she been in that cave? Fawkes landed on Hermione's shoulder.

"There you are." the phoenix trilled. "Do you know a place where I can stay, Fawkes?" he nodded and took flight, twirling around and back so Hermione could follow him. They started to climb a hill and walked for some time, until it started to rain and they came into a uninhabited cave.

Hermione started to cast spells at everything, cleaning the place, warding it against trespassers and animals. She gathered some wood and mounted the shrunk tent she carried in her bag. As much as she'd like to start looking for Harry, Hermione was sensible. There was no way she'd be of any use to Harry or herself like this: thin, weak, malnourished. She fought her panic and tried to think rationally; she needed to rest, she had no idea where she was, or the date, she knew she had no food left in her bag or it the tent, since they'd consumed everything in the Horcrux hunt. And she had to read the newspapers.

It wasn't dark, it was probably midafternoon, but she laid down to rest and slept like the dead.

* * *

The next day, having slept until midafternoon, she set out to find some food. She gathered some more wood and shrank it - she'd have to spell dry it, since it was wet from the rain. She sighed, exasperated.

"Why didn't I think of this before? Accio rabbit. Accio rabbit."

Two rabbits came flying at her and she quickly killed them. Once in the cave, she very clumsily skinned the poor little rabbits, taking some time to do it. She had seen her grandmother do it dozens of times, a long long time ago, but didn't have the practice. Well, she smirked, no time like the present.

She took out a pan, some olive oil, herbs and a little bit of conjured water, and started on a stew. While the meat cooked, she took the newspaper and ordered them by date. While she ate, she read and cursed often.

She swallowed hard. The Weasleys had pretty much been all killed, Billy and Charlie were missing. George was probably devastated. All the ones who knew her well enough to know she'd never do such a thing were gone. They had published a transcription of her trial and it wasn't good. Damned Rita Skeeter!

She didn't kill Harry, but there was no way to prove otherwise. Somebody wanted her dead, and they'd achieve it.

Hermione wasn't stupid. She knew she wasn't in England anymore, and somewhat safe for the moment. Fawkes had flashed her to some other place, supposedly closer to Harry. Harry. He was alive, she knew it.

She finished her meal and calmly paced the cave. She took her bag and took some books out, and an atlas. She researched time casting and locator spells and worked those on the map. She blinked. She was in the US, in Arizona. There was an Indian Reservation close by, as well as Fort Apache. Perhaps she could go to Phoenix, instead? She casted the Tempus spell and sat down, staring at it.

She recast several times. Could it be? Could she really have gone back in time?

Hermione sobbed. Just when she thought things were getting better! How could Fawkes take her back in time? But if he did, maybe he could send her forward.

But, the question was, did Hermione want to go there? All the ones she ever cared about were gone. What was the point of having a career if all her friends and family were gone or dead? How could she prove her innocence? The truth serum, of course, but how to go about it? Fudge was reinstated Minister, of all people! And there was no Shacklebolt nor Amelia Bones to help Hermione prove her innocence, there was no one, no one left.

She hugged her bag, and retrieved some chocolate she had stored away, along with some gold bars and precious stones she had brought with her. Harry had retrieved a massive amount of those from his vault and she had packed them in her bag for safekeeping. They had agreed that, if shit hit the fan, they'd move to the US or Australia and settle down as jewel designers. Hermione had taken a crash course on that field two summers ago and practiced in her holidays. She was quite good at it and had a few designs with her, along with the basic equipment, all shrunk.

Talk about paranoia. It paid off, though. She wouldn't starve, that was for certain.

Now, it was time to get to work. First things first. She'd also ask Fawkes to lead her to Harry.

* * *

Correction, she would have asked Fawkes, if she'd seen the damn phoenix, but he eluded her. No, he simply disappeared.

Weeks passed. She was feeling lonely, so she'd bury herself in her books, and she had plenty of them. Before she left on the Hogwarts Express for the last time, Hermione had duplicated all the books she could get from the Hogwarts library. Madam Pince had helped her, knowing they might not be coming back, and that they might not make it. Harry wouldn't believe it, if she told him. He'd probably laugh and say it was typical Hermione! Oh, Harry…

She had recovered and felt more like herself, and even though she liked eating game, living off it was getting to be too much for her palate. She had finished a few pieces of jewelry, some more elaborated, and others much simpler. She also made an intrincate gold ring for sale, there was bound to be a pawnshop or something of the sort near the Fort.

And so, one could say Hermione had somewhat comfortably settled into her life. No complications, no stress. Oh, who was she kidding, she was stressed.

She had seen blue coated army men on horse a few times but didn't dare to talk to them. They would no doubt ask questions, and well, she wasn't ready for that. She followed them at a distance, disillusioned, fishing for what information she could get and looking at their clothing. She shifted into her animagus form, and flew high above the men. The next day, after having a good dinner at sunset, she'd flown again to land on what she discovered to be the soldier's barracks roof. She silently watched their comings and goings and, as night progressed and she flew from here to there, she noticed a few of them were all going to the same establishment.

A few women were all over the men, and would sometimes, after sitting in their lap and serving drinks, whiskey perhaps, take the men in hand and head up the stairs. Others would just keep the men company, and another would simply serve drinks in this table or the other. There was a lot of cigarette smoke too, and some tables had men playing cards. Satisfied, she decided to fly down to a dark place between two buildings and transform into her human form. Casting a notice-me-not charm, she altered her appearance and clothing, and taking a deep breath, went into the saloon. One of the women approached her, now as him.

"Hi, stranger, where you come from?"

"Just came in for an honest game of poker, darlin'.", Hermione answered, in as low a voice she could manage. "I got no money though, just my gold ring, you think anyone will mind playing a few rounds for it?"

The soiled dove frowned, but managed to get Hermione into a game. She took off her hat and coat, and after a lost round, things were starting to look up. Before the other players got too sore about it, she paid them a round, thanked them for a good game, and went for the roulette. She made a very good show as well. Two women were already beside Hermione, probably thinking she'd give them a try, but oh well. Not happening. She excused herself, happy with her earnings. She sat down at an empty table and asked one of the serving girls for some tea and a newspaper, which earned her an odd look. As soon as it was there, she paid for it and gave a decent tip, asking the girl, Amy, not to be disturbed for a while.

Hiding behind the newspaper, reading attentively, she didn't notice at first there was a tall, blue-eyed blond man coming to her table.

"Hi, mind if I join you?", he said, sitting down as Hermione nodded. "Obliged.", he paused. "You're new. I haven't seen you before."

"Just got into town, guv'nah."

"Staying at Mrs. Murphy's?" must be some sort of hotel of the time, in this place, so Hermione shook her head. "Where then?"

"Nowhere. The night's young and I don't feel no sleepy at all.", she asked. "Might I ask, sir, why the interest?"

"I'm Lieutenant Schofield, from Fort Apache.", great, just great. "I don't think I saw your horse out there."

"I hid her. I've lost good part of my possessions already, was just being careful.", she sighed and finished her tea. "Well, fancy meeting you, sir, but I'm gonna stretch my legs." Seeing as the man tensed and frowned, "feel free to come if ye'd like".

"Of course." Shit.

* * *

It was not easy to get rid of the Lieutenant. Hermione ended up having to take a room at Mrs. Murphy's after all, despite being so horribly late, just to keep appearances, as Tiberius Smith. It was a horrible name, but she was hopeful that no outlaw had such a name.

She took refuge in her room and counted her earnings. At least, the risk was worth it.

She didn't want to get a gun, though. She'd prefer her bow and arrows, archery had been a pastime she had been indulging in again, living in the wild. She took some duplicated drawings out of her pocket, unshrunk them and asked at the hotel if there was any shop who might sell jewelry. She went to the mercantile, and apparently they'd be willing to sell jewelry by catalog. Fort Apache was too small yet to have that sort of store. Hermione made some shopping – she missed eating rice, and potatoes – gave him her improvised portfolio and they stared, flipped some pages, and stared again.

They were lovely, they said, and who did them?

"An associate of mine, I'm the go between." They reached an agreement, settled prices and such, and shook hands. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Harp."

"Pleasure's all mine, young man. When are you thinking of coming back here?"

"Two weeks?"

"That's fine. Heading anywhere?"

"Bisbee, perhaps Phoenix."

"Well, it's nice to see a new face in town. Tiberius Smith, is that your name?", Hermione nodded at the lady who spoke, a customer. "Strange name." She pawed the catalog and raised her eyebrow at the picture of a pricey elegant pendant. "Bit overpriced." The woman was grating her nerves.

"Madam, with all due respect, if you so believe that, who am I to say otherwise? Good day." She tipped her hat and quickly left to the little hotel. She paid what was due, shrunk all her belongings, waited for dinner – Mrs. Murphy was a wonderful cook – and gorged herself. Hmm, the apple pie was very good – her favorite. Afterwards, she left.

Apparating at night was scary for Hermione. There were all sorts of sounds coming from the forest and, no matter how long she lived there, she was always cautious, and never completely relaxed when she left the cave, she never forgot her first encounter with the puma.

Nevertheless, she was pleased with how everything had turned out. She was feeling bold as she put away her groceries, organizing everything. She got ready for bed and laid there, planning.

Oh, she could go to Phoenix. She would have to go at night, of course, and hit a couple more saloons. Hermione Granger playing poker... nobody would believe it, except for Harry, of course.

Harry...

She hadn't given up on Harry, but she knew that, if Fawkes didn't come back, she was stuck here. It was important to earn money both ways, through gambling and jewelry alike. She also had to order gems and buy more gold, so the Phoenix expedition in Maricopa County was extraordinarily important. With her next earnings she'd order them; it wouldn't be right to use Harry's valuables any longer, she wasn't in a tight spot anymore. She had a lavish looking pendant for demonstration, which she'd leave at the store, of course. A bigger town wouldn't just take her word for it. It was too bad women couldn't be as independent as in her time, but there was nothing she could do to change that.

She'd learned much from S. P. E. W., _obviously_.

With more resources, she'd be able to buy herself a little house or an apartment in Phoenix, or maybe here, in Fort Apache, settle down as a jewelry designer. She frowned, she could invest in the stock market for a while, and then convert that investment into something else, in about 20 years. At least, that would be a plan if she stayed in the past.

In the meantime, it was time to start searching for Harry. After she came back from Phoenix, of course.


End file.
